


Blur

by klaviergavout



Category: In the Heights - Miranda
Genre: (finger guns) cool beans, Gen, i watched ith again today and couldn't help feeling rlly rlly sad over usnavi, so i wrote about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:30:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaviergavout/pseuds/klaviergavout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usnavi grieves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blur

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a fic version of the events from 'Alabanza' to the middle of 'Everything I Know' when Usnavi leaves, and what I've always imagined happens after that.

That afternoon, it seemed as if all of 183rd Street had come to pay their respects to Abuela Claudia, who had passed away only hours prior. Candles in hand, the residents proceeded through the barrio, their heads hung and their eyes misty. No one spoke except for quiet prayers, mantras, unsteady voices raising whispered songs to the heavens.  
  
Each passed Usnavi en route.

* * *

Some embraced him, and wished him well, and wiped his tears; some couldn't meet his eyes. It didn't make a difference- every person, every figure, was a blur to him. And when he managed to focus back on the reality of these people,  _his_ people, in front of him, he saw his abuela in all of them.  
  
Those hands were hers, soft and warming. Those eyes were hers, looking at him with a gaze laced with pity. Those voices were a symphony of  _alabanza's_ and  _pacienca y fe's_ and, oh god, he heard  _her,_ he heard her telling him to _stay strong, Usnavi, don't cry, don't cry_ \--  
  
And so he did.

* * *

Kevin Rosario returned from sorting out her belongings, and, his eyes filled with piteous tears, handed over a large brown box to Usnavi. He took it with trembling hands, the brim of his hat slanted down low over his eyes, and turned away almost immediately despite knowing all too well that it was inconsiderate of him. It was wrong to say he didn't care, but he just couldn't allow himself to, not in the heat of that moment.  
  
He grasped the box to his chest a little firmer.

* * *

Knowing that Nina had yet to leave, knowing that he wanted to offer her some of the money he had now inherited, and knowing (albeit regretfully) that he needed someone to talk to, he sat on a stray crate in the corner of the street and moved another next to him.  
  
He opened the box. Albums. Scraps of paper. Notes. Part of him knew he had expected it, knew that he would have been given back these pages on which stood his childhood and his meaning and his very _life_ , and he felt his throat tighten as he blinked back weakness.

* * *

Talking to Nina helped, for a while. He hated to admit it, but they were hardly as close as before she had left for Stanford, and he supposed that that was the reason he had chosen her.  
  
Sonny was his closest friend, his cousin, his usual confidante- but it would have done neither of them any good to try and talk, because they wouldn't have managed any words. Vanessa was still a little annoyed at him because of what had happened during the blackout, and other than Abuela Claudia, there was no one else he cared about more than those two.  
  
Nina was different. They weren't too distant that he felt awkward talking to her at a time like this, but they weren't so close that he would confide in her every feeling he'd had since just before noon that day. It wasn't that she didn't care about what had happened- she cared a lot, actually. But she knew her boundaries, and Usnavi had always respected that.

* * *

They looked through each loose photo, each scrap of paper- or at least, they began to. A poem he'd written in 3rd grade. A 1978 lottery ticket. Each artifact they analysed, they handled with great care, as if they'd be ruined if even the slightest bit of force was applied. And they still hadn't touched the albums.  
  
But when Nina inspected the albums, it opened a window in Usnavi's mind, flicked a certain switch, and memory after memory began to flood back. He watched his life flash before his eyes, the sepia photos filling with non-existent colour as he remembered way back when, and he watched her life flash by alongside his.

Her. Abuela. She had spent every day in the barrio beside him, caring, protecting, keeping him safe. And now that her smile had been torn from his life, now that all he had of her was contained to these pictures, it was apparent that she had kept that vow until her final breath had left her lips.

* * *

"I'd better go get the rest of those pictures." Finally, finally, he stood up and went to leave, handing Nina a folder he had found with some pictures that he knew she'd appreciate seeing. And even though she smiled at him as he left, and even though he had closed the albums, the images stayed fresh in his mind.  
  
Once Usnavi reached the store, his only real refuge, he noticed her patterned tote bag resting behind the counter- large, bulging, and $96,000 full. And all at once his heart missed a beat and he dropped to his knees and wept, dropping the albums and the folders and the little scraps of paper and the 3rd grade poem and the lottery ticket and he wanted her back, he _needed_ her back, because never in his life had he felt so  _helpless.  
_

* * *

He didn't know what was going to happen to the $96,000. He didn't know what was going to happen to the Rosario's business. He didn't know what was going to happen to Vanessa, to Benny, to Graffiti Pete, to Nina, to Sonny.   
  
He didn't know what was going to happen to the barrio now that he was leaving.  
  
What he did know, however, was that his heart would forever remain  _here._  



End file.
